Fustercluck
by Unsocialite
Summary: "You know, I'm surprised neither of us are clinically insane," she mused, taking note of her companion tensing. "It's too bad. I'd get disability."
1. Once Upon a Time

_Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who was trapped and could only be rescued by a handsome prince._

No.

No, no, no.

She was no princess, no great beauty, no damsel. She did not need rescuing—or rather, there was no way to be rescued. She could not be helped by anyone other than herself. She could not—would not—wait to be rescued by anyone, especially a man wrapped in tin foil.

So.

_Once upon a time, there was a woman—_

Dammit.

No.

_Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was average in appearance, nothing particularly special or striking. She longed for the day where she could see the world untainted by her jaded attitude, view the world with a childlike innocence that she had never been given the opportunity to possess. She would have gotten her opportunity, too, if it hadn't been for the evil that befell her and mother. An evil that was timeless and deadly. Once the evil took root, there was nothing to do but commence a losing battle; the girl fought long and hard for her mother, never giving up hope that the battle could be won by the good, by the downtrodden who were constantly underfoot of the bigger, higher powers that be. _

_But the girl's hope was for naught—the downtrodden could never win, not when they remained under the thumb of others. And so the battle was lost, along with all of the girl's hope and dreams, along with her peace of mind and potential to be great. Upon the day the battle ended, she was cursed to endlessly roam the earth, never to be content or happy. The evil had taken what little the girl had and she was filled with a sense of loss beyond belief. _

_You see, boys and girls, it is one thing to have your world crash around you, to have to pick up the broken, scattered pieces. To see your life reduced to bits and pieces. It is another entirely when you have no world, where you possess only one thing. This one thing you cling to, making it a part of you. You cling to it, you become one with it, in the belief that it will always be there. But when you lose that one thing, then you lose everything—you lose yourself. There are no pieces to pick up, no shattered dreams to repair. There is nothing but a void where you once existed, an empty shell of a person._

_And so the girl began her journey, never expecting an end or a middle. Never expecting fulfillment or joy. She wandered listlessly, all sense of hope lost but never a prayer to get it back._


	2. A Peasant Met a Prince

Leaves rustled gently in the wind as a slight breeze swept through the park. Along with the breeze came the sound of small children laughing and other white noise, adding to the relaxing, safe environment. A young man sat on a park bench away from all other humanity, ensnared within his own world. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, his countenance expressing his contentment and comfort with his place in the world. He lay back on the bench and stared up at the sky unseeingly, his mind for once at peace as his blood moved sluggishly through his veins.

"It's a shame that someone so young feels that this is their only means of escaping." Spencer jerked his head toward the source of the softly spoken words, a slight sense of fear encroaching upon his haze. The girl—woman?—appeared to be of no threat to him, but if he knew anything, he knew that appearances could be deceiving. Did she know…?

No. He scratched the thought immediately. His own team members didn't know—the expert profilers that he spent hours with on a daily basis.

"What…" He licked his dry lips before continuing. "What do you mean?"

The mystery woman's—girl's?—lips curled upwards slightly, her eyes expressing the same understanding her smile did. She took a seat before facing her whole body towards him. "You mean how do I know? That's what you're really asking, right?"

At that point, the young man became slightly panicked, seeing his future spin out of control. He would go to work and he would be sent to Hotch's office, where his boss and Strauss would be. He would be fired on the spot because they would _know_. They would know and he would be sent packing as his—now former—co-workers would look on with disapproval and anger and disgust because they would _know_, too. He would go home to his empty apartment with a box of his belongings that had once been on his desk and a tarnished career that could no longer be. He would have to head back to teaching and become once again isolated in an environment that seemingly belonged to him.

Almost as if she knew where the downward spiral his thoughts were spinning in, the stranger spoke to the brown-eyed man. "I don't know you." Though obvious, words seemed to calm him, the true meaning gradually sinking into his addled mind.

When she saw his posture relax, she raised a brow delicately. "Am I right to assume that you have friends, family, and a career? Things that would be ruined if this were to be found out?" From the frozen look on the man's face, she knew that she had at least hit close to home.

After getting a firm grip on his emotions, the brunette turned to the woman—girl?—and finally looked her in the eye. "How do you know?"

She smirked slightly, bitterly. "You have the look… I knew this girl—she would have been a woman, should have been really…" She sighed before continuing, "She was a legally an adult, so she was technically a woman, you know? But something happened to her when she was a child, something _bad_, and she never got past it. She may have had her own living space, her own job, but she was stuck in her mind, trapped in her memories. Just a little girl at heart… So she sought comfort like any child would." The wind seemed to still around the two strangers. Clear, sympathetic eyes met red-rimmed, sorrowful ones. "She would have the same look that you do when she found her comfort. It's kind of a specific look, very recognizable if you know what to look for…"

_Glazed eyes…_

_Empty smile..._

_Unbearable sorrow…_

Brown eyes looked around unseeingly while gangly limbs seemed to close in on themselves. "It's… It's not—" He frowned as he for once found himself at a lack of words.

"It's not what it looks like?" She raised a brow that went along with the slight hint of challenge in her voice.

He spluttered a bit before settling on, "I-it's none of your business!"

"She died, you know." The words were said so casually, the young male nearly gawked at the lack of emotion and abrupt shift in subject. "It turns out she wasn't as infallible as she led everyone to believe…" She stared wistfully at the sky, ignoring the slight tension. "And sometimes, I wonder if maybe she just needed someone to lend her their ear. Maybe if she hadn't held it all in, she wouldn't have imploded." She looked at the brown-eyed male seriously. "Because she didn't die: she imploded. She had so thoroughly trapped everything inside that there was no way for her to _ex_plode."

The young man looked at the stranger confusedly, trying to decipher what seemed to be an unsolvable riddle. As dazed as he was, he was beginning to fear for his safety. The ramblings of a crazy person were always a precursor to more physical, violent delusion. A shiver of similarly violent fear rattled his spine as memories he tried to blockade traveled to the forefront of his mind, a name flashing like neon lights reaching out to him. A name that he couldn't even pretend to forget, always slightly in the forefront of his mind. A name that had reduced him to this mindless mess. He was almost thankful that the crazy person started to talk again, interrupting his macabre train of thought.

"Of course, it sounds crazy when I say it like that. But what I mean to say is that she kept everything bottled up; of course, I do this, too, perhaps more than is healthy… But she let those bottled up memories, those carefully stored emotions, rule her life. She let them _control_ her life, let them lead her to an addiction that _cost_ her life… It's like her holding onto everything, the hurt, the anger, the sadness… it was her only way of assuring herself that it was going to be okay in some fucked up way. And all of that just created a black hole in her body—a sort of vortex—that slowly ate everything up. Her pain, her happiness… You know, black holes don't differentiate matter, they just consume it…" She spared her pseudo-companion a casual glance. "You have a black hole, too."

Aside from the ominous proclamation that flew from soft lips, the companion seemed to ignore her, only half-listening. After the diagnosis, though, he sat up alertly and peered at her. A black hole… inside of him? Was that why he was feeling so utterly _wrong_ since—no, no, no. He wouldn't think about that. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think about that. And if anyone was going to keep a fucking promise to him, it was going to be himself. "… I do?"

A bland smile stretched across her lips, "Yes. That's why I came to talk to you, you know. I know it's wrong of me to try and help you because you bear such a resemblance to her. But… your eyes—they're just so fucking _painful_. Your eyes aren't empty yet, there's still something you can do before it's too late. You look like you just need someone to listen. Someone who has no bias, who won't get offended, to just soak up everything you say." She looked at him with a sense of urgency, "You might be hurt, but you're not broken."

_Not yet._

The intensity in her eyes made the young male temporarily forget his discomfort as he was drawn in. She _knew._ She didn't know the exact details, but she knew enough of the content and he wasn't sure how that was possible. Even he and his team of profilers weren't this on the mark after a few seconds of seeing someone, and he liked to think that he wasn't an open book. A thought idly passed through his mind that this person—whoever she was—would make a damn good profiler. But then his fear and panic came back and he could only whisper through frozen lips, "How do you know?"

She smiled slightly, bitterly. "I might not know you personally, but I've seen quite a few of you in my lifetime."

The bitter smile decided it for him. She was a woman, not a girl. A woman who _knew._


	3. The Prince Had Fallen Off His Path

Leaves rustled gently in the wind as a slight breeze swept through the park. Along with the breeze came the sound of small children laughing and other white noise, adding to the relaxing, safe environment. A young man sat on a park bench away from all other humanity, ensnared within his own world. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, his countenance expressing his contentment and comfort with his place in the world. He lay back on the bench and stared up at the sky unseeingly, his mind for once at peace as his blood moved sluggishly through his veins.

"This seems awfully familiar, yeah?" A gentle voice prompted the young man to look up jerkily. Through the haze in his mind he recognized the figure for what it was a woman—girl?—talking to him. He felt a brief surge of panic before he calmed himself. After all, this stranger wouldn't be able to tell. His reassurances to himself fell short, though, when she sat down next to him on the bench.

"Are you okay?" The question seemed to stem from genuine concern about his wellbeing, taking the young genius aback. Seeing the sincerity in her eyes reminded him of a childlike innocence—so trusting of the world, un-expecting of the many ways it would fuck a person over. The girl—woman?—blinked at him inquisitively, tilting her head a bit to the side, waiting for his answer.

Before he could control himself, put a lid on the thought process and shove it back into the dark corners of his mind, he blurted out the truth, "I'm not right." Immediately he froze, shocked at how the words had tumbled out of his mouth, almost running away from their captivity. He quickly looked away from the stranger, fearing her judgment but reluctant to run away.

"You know, I'm beginning to think that no one is entirely right in the head. I mean, God, have you seen these children in the park? Any sane person would not allow their children to act like they're in a scene from _Lord of the Flies._" The offhanded way she critiqued something else set him at ease by the change of focus. "Not that I could do any better but… well." The woman peered at her companion, "I chose not to do the whole baby thing. 'Cause there is always a choice, you know, even though it doesn't feel like it."

He felt a blow to his chest, his lungs expelling air hurriedly as he processed the stranger's words. But… sometimes there wasn't a choice, right? If it were between life and death, one would have to choose life because it was the _right_ way to do it—one couldn't possibly "choose" death. "What… if there isn't?" His brown eyes widened at the brief moment of lucidity that allowed him to speak—perhaps he needed to up his dosage? Before he could ponder or berate further, the smooth voice interrupted the thought process.

"A choice? But there is always a choice. Sometimes, I've found, that people are blinded by their own morality and desire of self-preservation. After all, if you're being held at gunpoint and given a choice to choose between killing yourself or killing another—" an icy chill crept down the young man's spine "—some might not view it for the choice it is. Where as one might say… that their life is more important, another will say that another's life is better to save. Either way, they don't see the choice—they see what _must_ be done. They don't take the time to examine the situation before deciding."

Brown eyes stared determinedly at the person nearest, not daring to close and be faced with the flashbacks from hell—_no. _He wouldn't think about that. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think about that. And if anyone was going to keep a fucking promise to him, it was going to be himself.

"I would like to think that I would do the 'right' thing, but I haven't the foggiest idea of what that might be. Some would call me selfless if I chose my death, but what if the person who was spared were to be hit by a car the very next day? Granted, I wouldn't know that if I were to die beforehand." She laughed slightly, hollowly. "Still, there are other people worth saving… people that are worth far more than me." She turned to the young doctor, "Do _you_ think you're worth saving?"

The sandy-haired male stared at her, shocked at the question. _Was_ he worth saving? Did she even understand the implications of her question? The fractured memories she called into question?

Immediately he was faced with a resounding _no _on all counts_._ But upon second glance to the female next to him, he felt the urge to re-think his answer—something he _rarely_ had the urge to do. Why was she making him think he might be worth it? He _wasn't right._ He was a drug addict, most decidedly fucked in the head with the all too likely probability of schizophrenia looming over him.

"What I've found is that those who are _worth _it, who are _worth_ saving, are the ones who _don't_ believe that they are."

Her words—the _naiveté_ they exposed—decided it. She was a girl, not a woman, not yet exposed to the failures of humanity.


	4. He Had a Long Way to Travel

"This is becoming scary," a hoarse voice commented. The female attached to the voice sat herself next to the young man on the bench.

His leaden tongue struggled to move inside his dry mouth, but he managed to slur a couple of words, "What is?"

She smiled at him encouragingly. "Meeting like this, of course. It's almost as if you're stalking me." Her companion merely gave her a weak sidelong glance, feeling as if he should be used to this stranger's antics.

"So how have you been these last few days? You were gone for almost a week this—" Her words were cut off by a hacking cough. She covered her mouth as her body shook violently, taking shuddering breathes where possible. Her companion tentatively reached out to her, awkwardly patting her on the back as her wheezing slowly died out. "This time." Brown eyes stared at the body that occupied the other side of the bench, warily determining the stranger's threat level. He vaguely recalled her from somewhere but couldn't remember the exact circumstances… Perhaps a recent case? Her eyes seemed to be penetrating in an all too familiar way, but her facial features didn't ring any bells.

"What happened?" She had a small, bitter smile that spoke of a deep-rooted understanding when she saw a flicker of anger in his eyes. He ignored the bitterness of her smile, or perhaps didn't recognize it, and stared out at the grey sky instead of answering. "You look distracted." Couldn't she just leave him in _peace?_ Dear god, this was almost as bad as his teammates constantly asking about his state of mind.

"… I'm thinking about running." The words tumbled out of his mouth as if someone had bitch-slapped it out of him. He blanched and looked desperately away from the person next to him, contemplating running away from this situation much like he was considering running away from the life he lived.

"Remember to take breaks otherwise you'll get tired quickly. And drink lots of liquids." She looked down and gently massaged her hand, the joints seeming to feel stiff. The brunette looked at her quickly in surprise before glancing away hurriedly. "You don't want to get dehydrated, since you'll end up in the hospital and that's not very conducive to getting the fuck away from wherever or whomever you don't want to be around." She breathed deeply and something vaguely registered within him that her breathing didn't sound quite right.

He couldn't contain the nearly manic laughter that was forced from him if he had put an honest—sober—effort into it. The female merely smiled at him gently and continued to massage her appendage.

"It's stupid," he said. Upon seeing his companion's questioning look he expanded his answer, "Everything." She hummed contemplatively and nodded, undisturbed by the perturbed look on the brunette's face.

"What makes it stupid? After all, it only takes one straw to break the camel's back." She glanced away as she spoke and her breathing altered before she fell into another coughing fit. After a few minutes she seemed to gather herself and sighed when she realized that the man's eyes had once again glazed over. She knew only a handful of things could cause this near-catatonic state. "Hey—" the man looked back toward her, meeting her gaze confusedly. "What are you taking? Are you using heroin?"

He sputtered, shaking his head. The female's brows furrowed before she reached beside her and grabbed a water bottle, shoving it into her companion's hands. He looked at her questioningly.

"It's just water. You can test the cap—it's unopened. No opportunities for me to slip anything in." She held up her hands defensively as he looked at her with suspicion in his gaze. "Hey, whatever the fuck you're on is giving you a severe case of dry-mouth. You keep trying to swallow, but there's nothing to swallow. Be smart about this, man. You need to drink something, preferably water, before you go and choke on your tongue that feels so goddamn swollen."

The bottle seemed to pass inspection and was promptly chugged. A pleased smile was upon her face as she inquired, "So, what are you on?"

It was almost as if she knew that he would have a strange obligation to respond now that she had helped him. He sighed, "D-dilaudid."

Silence reigned supreme before a snort broke the tension.

"Dilaudid… Heh." He gave her an inquisitive look tinged with a frown. "Sorry. It's just that the name sounds an awful lot like 'deluded,' doesn't it?"

He swallowed reflexively, now gifted with that ability thanks to her generosity, and looked away in shame, though he somehow knew that she held no judgment for him.

Her face took on a look of slight pain before clearing, and he almost thought he heard the word heroin escape her lips again. Gently, she grasped the man's shoulder. "You be careful about this, okay? I have no place to be telling you what to do, so I won't. But, please, don't drown your sorrows in this, because you will end up drowning yourself."

"Why… are you so concerned about me?" Brown eyes belaying confusion looked blearily at the stranger.

Her lips turned up at the corners, but there was no sign of happiness in her visage. "I don't know if you remember, but I had this friend… I just try to help where I can."


End file.
